


The Twisting of the Rope

by oneawkwardcookie



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Even Briefer Mention of Eddie's Parents, Everything Hurts, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Mentioned Christopher Diaz, Mentioned Shannon Diaz, POV Evan "Buck" Buckley, Songfic, Unhappy Ending, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26839069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneawkwardcookie/pseuds/oneawkwardcookie
Summary: If you’re with me, be with me, love of my heartIf you’re with me, every inch of your heart will be with me.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 45





	The Twisting of the Rope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitkat0723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkat0723/gifts).



> This is part of the ongoing mutually assured destruction between Kat (@kitkat0723) and I.
> 
> In this version of events, Eddie wasn't married to Shannon to start with, and this starts shortly after Eddie arrived in LA (so before season 2)

The sand under his feet, soft and forgiving. The shrieking of children and laughing of adults. The ever-present lapping of waves, coming and going. It was peaceful. It was familiar. It was lonely.

He settles down where there's some space. There's a couple on his left so he turns to lie on his right, looking to his side where there's an empty blanket, piled high with sandcastle moulds, a small pair of crutches stacked to one side.

He knows he shouldn't but he starts to drift, the waves and the warmth pulling him into drowsiness. He's tugged back to reality by a bright laugh, followed by a deeper chuckle, and he opens his eyes to see a young boy, giggling as his dad rubs sunscreen into his back, fingers tickling him a little before going back to work. It's only when the man's done with his task and the child says, “your turn dad!” that Buck's attention fully falls on him.

He's... Buck's short on words, eyes narrowing like he's looking at the sun. Maybe he is, and he's just in his orbit, spinning as he's still stuck in his spot. He watches as the man rubs sunscreen over his face, across that sharp jawline, over toned arms that are already a little tanned, over the plane of his chest and abs that -

He closes his eyes and rolls onto his back, lifting his arms behind his head, just to give himself something to lean against. He tries to focus on the kaleidoscope of yellow behind his eyelids, instead of the images that seem to have seared themselves onto them.

His heart's almost returned to where it should live when that spot is hit with a beach-ball. It's light enough to not hurt but it still rouses him from his thoughts about his thoughts, and he opens his eyes to...

They're sun-kissed amber, holding a deep kindness in their glassy brightness, but right now they're a little apologetic too, accompanied by a grin that's sheepish and wolfish at the same time.

“Sorry about that.” He reaches out a hand and Buck is halfway to meeting him in the middle when his brain comes back online and he course-corrects, picking up the beach-ball that had settled at his feet and handing it back.

Buck realizes after a few seconds that they're still looking at each other, and the other man seems to realize this too.

“Thanks man.”

And with that, he's gone.

He prefers cycling around, but sometimes he just needs to travel by foot, slow and steady, ascending through the city, the tree lined paths, until he can almost believe he's alone in the woods, until he emerges to the Hollywood sign. He still prefers the greenery.

He's just rounding the corner on his way down, one of many loops in the winding path, when he sees a man, face half hidden by the child he's carrying. He's distracted, rummaging in his pocket as he walks.

“Woah!” Buck puts out an arm to stop him from slipping off the sidewalk as it curves.

It's the man from the beach. They both seem to have the same thought: 'you'

He tries to lighten the mood. “We really should stop meeting like this!” He's surprised to see a nervous look flash across the other man's face instead, before he gets a smile in return.

“Thanks for saving my life.”

“Oh I wasn't saving you,” he jerks a head towards the child, who has turned to face him, eyes curiously flicking between both adults.

“Thanks.” It's softer this time, enough to make Buck extend his hand.

“Buck.”  
“Eddie.”

Eddie.

“Enjoy your Sunday, Eddie.” He leaves before he can outstay his welcome.

He used to do this before, but always with a different start and a different outcome. This time though, he's there for himself and himself alone, losing himself in music and the nameless faceless crowd that swells and surges like another kind of ocean, one that's hot and chaotic, but still helps him lose himself.

Time doesn't exist. There are no seconds or minutes or hours; just the steady thumping of the bass, the record scratch between songs, how he has to break free of the crowd every so often to grab a glass of water before flinging himself back into the flames.

By the time he stumbles out, the night air is a cold awakening, dousing him in reality. He's flushed and giddy. He's sober and alone.

At least it makes the walk back easier, mind clear enough to not stumble as he heads past the clubs and bars, still heaving with the echoes of the people inside, others milling around outside in a haze of smoke, or spilling out onto the streets in pairs or groups, like the spray of the sea.

He's in the midst of trying to avoid these people when he hears his name called. His first instinct is to duck and weave, avoiding whoever thinks they know him or actually does, but there's something in the voice that gives him pause.

“Eddie?”

“See, now I _definitely_ think you're stalking me.”

“I - ” His eyes widen for a moment, before he rolls them at how Eddie sniggers at him, a smug smile curling Eddie's lips.

“Well, since I'm _clearly_ stalking you, I'd probably find out your number one way or another, so you might as well save me the trouble.”

For a moment, he thinks he's read the situation wrong again, but Eddie's stretching out a hand again and their fingers brush as he hands his phone over, sending a jolt through him of that giddy feeling from before.

The sun's rising by the time he makes it home and he stops to watch it through his windows, letting the orange light and the buzz of his phone warm him.

Each date ends with a goodnight kiss, quiet and gentle, and Buck can barely drag his lips away each time, swiping a tongue over them as he heads back to his car.

This time though, as he shifts to move away, Eddie keeps a hand on his hip and he's pinned. He lets himself fall back in.

“Come back to mine?” Any other person, any other year, this would have been the question he asked, if he even got that far. This time though, the pressure is gone, or maybe it's the expectation he and others have of him.

“Yeah.”

The house is silent as they enter, Chris at a sleepover and not due back until the following afternoon. Buck hovers in the living room, a finger tracing patterns on the back of the couch as Eddie heads further into the house. He only barely catches the water bottle that's tossed his way, tipping it in thanks at Eddie, who bumps his own against it.

They end up watching a movie, and he doesn't quite keep track of what's happening, what with the way they drift nearer, his finger now tracing patterns on Eddie's thigh as he rests his head on Eddie's shoulder, Eddie's own hand drifting up from Buck's shoulder to rest along his neck.

The screen turns black and he sees them both, pressed together, picture perfect. They turn to each other at the same time, and he's lost again, eyes scanning the face in front of him, those lips that are parted on a breath, on a sentence -

“Come to bed?” It's as quiet and gentle as any kiss of his.

He doesn't want to get it wrong again, not with Eddie, so he hesitates, drags his gaze to those eyes that bore into his very soul. Eddie's hand over his stops his wandering hand and thoughts.

They get lost in each other, a fantasy captured in the floating white sheets, so that he's not sure if they're amongst the clouds or soaring above them. The world is asleep and he's alive again.

They still take it slow, treating their relationship like a fragile, delicate thing. There's so many things to think about, with Chris being the first of them. Buck tells Eddie he loves kids, and he can see in Eddie's response that he loves Chris with all his heart. He's willing to wait, even if there are still some small insecurities that perch on his shoulder at night and whisper in his ear that if Eddie wanted to be with him, he'd be _with_ him, for all the world to see.

He's been Buck 1.0, young and light-hearted, or at least careless with his heart, betting it away with every woman he was with. The 118 still reminds him of that time, more often than he cares for. He knows he was like that for a while, falling into bed (or the couch...or the truck...or...) with so many people that he met.

But Eddie makes him want to settle down, become an honest man. The thought is terrifyingly intense. But Eddie makes his heart flutter and thump in his chest in a way that he would have mocked before, or just thought was him being overtly sensitive, but it's _real ._

It's real when he meets Chris for the first time, although it's technically the third time, and nothing changes. Or everything does, he's still not quite sure.

It's real when he moves in.

It's real.

Eddie finishes up at the academy, and Buck couldn't be prouder, waiting at home for him and pulling him into a hug as soon as he's through the door.

There's something in the way Eddie holds him, both tightly and tentatively, that makes him lean back sooner than he would have.

“What happened?” Eddie isn't hurt, or upset, he's … scared?

“Your captain wants me to join the 118.”

His heart plummets. Passing the academy is one thing, but joining a station is another, and to get specifically requested is an honour, even if you're top of your class like Eddie is.

He can't hold him back, so he loosens his grip.

“That's alright, I get it.”

“Wait, no, Buck. I...” Eddie takes a deep breath, even though it still feels like all the oxygen is gone from the room for Buck. “I told him no. I didn't tell him why but... I told him no.”

It's taken time to learn Eddie's language, and for Eddie to learn it to, to let himself feel and let others feel that too. It's taken time for Buck to learn how to be there, in actions as well as words.

“I can't do that to you,” he places a finger over Eddie's mouth as he starts to protest. “I understand if you're not ready, but if you are with me, be _with_ me, for all the world to see.” The words and the heart they've come from hang in the air. He moves his fingers away. “We can tell Bobby, and hope he understands.”

Eddies tells him he loves him. Buck says it back and feels Eddie's heart flutters under his fingertips.

It's alright - they're partners, it'll work out, they'll be the exception to the rule.

Eddie's parents ask him to come back to Texas for their wedding anniversary and they seem happier with Eddie, who seems more at peace with them too. That's what he repeats to himself, a mantra, a prayer, to a God that he's not sure he believes in any more, as he starts to feel doubt creep in as to why they're driving away from his home, his job, his friends, under clouds that glow red with the sunrise.

He's going for Eddie, for the lifelong love of his heart – a phrase that sends his soul soaring, but that's alright. _Eddie_ is his home; he'd follow him wherever he went.

They're...muted. He thinks it's shock. He knows Eddie never came out to them, first out of fear, then simplicity, and then distance. It slowly moves to a form of civility that seems almost accepting, conversation slowly building up, still stilted but less hostile.

They invite him to mass. If the surprised look on Eddie's face is anything to go by, they might as well be welcoming him into the family. They've made it to the car when Eddie's mother says she's left her white rosary beads on the porch, and asks Buck to grab them for her.

The snapping of the car locks breaks something in him. He's left with the tolling of distant church bells and the distraught look on Eddie's face as he hears the muffled shouting inside the car, the words inaudible but sounding just like his own parents' a decade ago. He watches Eddie's profile turn to resignation, eyes not meeting his, not looking up as they drive away.

It's another Sunday. He's in the church this time, inside the closed doors. There's flowers and guests, the 118 are all there, as colleagues, friends, family.

The first few notes of the wedding march chime and echo off the walls, and everyone twists in their seat.

He doesn't: doesn't want to break the spell, doesn't want to see until he has to, until the music has stopped and everyone is where they're supposed to be, and the guests turns back in their seats.

The prayers and readings are a blur – a formality, a tradition, a necessity.

“Do you Edmundo Diaz -”

  


_He's standing on the beach, seeing him for the first time._

_He's catching his breath and Eddie is dappled in golden light, rippling though the rustling trees._

_He's standing outside the door and Eddie isn't his any more._

  


“ - take Shannon Carter to be your lawful wedded wife?”

The wedding rope is wound round and round, a figure of eight, an infinity. The vows are done, and they're bound together.

There's been a thousand moments, from the start to the finish, and they've all turned into a singular misfortune – he's not Eddie's husband.

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by an Irish song: [Casadh an tSúgáin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u83IvzMwvhM), and here's [a little more background to it](https://blogs.umass.edu/nsullivan/2018/07/06/casadh-an-tsugain/).
> 
> ... the song literally came on in my shuffle as I proof-read this 🤦🏽🤣


End file.
